


Firefighters and Full Moons

by AnotherSPNfanfic



Category: 9-1-1 (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherSPNfanfic/pseuds/AnotherSPNfanfic
Summary: What happens when the Winchesters have no choice but to call 911?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Firefighters and Full Moons

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen in love and am already addicted to 9-1-1! This was co-written with spnirwin on Tumblr. She actually wrote the majority of it! So if you enjoy this you should definitely go check her out there!

You hit the wall and dropped to the ground with a thud. Groaning, you rolled over and dragged yourself to your feet. The werewolf was approaching quickly, and you scrambled to reach the silver knife that had been knocked out of your grasp. 

The wolf growled at you and leaped the remaining few feet across the room. You stared up at it in panic as its claws extended towards your face. You snapped out of your trance at the last second, grabbed the knife from the ground beside you and jammed it upwards, straight into the werewolf's heart. It let out a little whimper before collapsing directly on top of you. You shoved it off, gasping for the breath you lost due to its weight. 

You and the Winchester brothers had followed the trail of bodies from Washington state down to California. Eventually you caught up to the culprit in a warehouse in the heart of downtown LA. Unfortunately, by the time you arrived he had created his own version of a pack. There were now two down, two remaining, one of which was the original wolf. He was huge, almost double Dean’s size, who he was currently sparring with. 

You heaved your exhausted body up, setting off across the room to help the boys. Dean took a particularly bad hit at the same moment Sam took his wolf down. Seeing Dean was in trouble you started running, the knife clutched in your hand. 

You really should’ve learned your lesson about not watching where your feet were going years ago. Countless injuries had been suffered from making that mistake, and it seemed today was no exception. Instead of running around the giant hole in the floor, you ran straight into it. You screamed as you fell, hearing Dean’s shot ring out in finality as you hit the ground. 

—

“Y/n!” you heard Dean’s voice bellowing your name, Sam’s shortly following. 

“Down here!” you called back, mentally assessing yourself for injuries. “Shit,” you muttered, finding yourself unable to put any pressure on your left arm. 

Sam and Dean’s faces appeared in the hole above you, consequently blocking out all of the light. “Are you okay?” Sam asked. Dean’s head disappeared from your view before you got a chance to answer Sam’s question. 

“Where is he going?” you asked. Sam shrugged in response, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “My arm is broken,” you sighed. “And something fell on my leg, hence why I haven’t gotten up yet. I’m pinned.”

Dean’s face popped back into view next to Sam’s. “The stairway down is blocked,” he said breathlessly. He dropped his arm down into the hole, attempting to reach you. “If you stand up you can grab my hand. I’ll pull you up.”

You didn’t move, choosing instead to simply stare at him. “Why...why aren’t you getting up?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

“Well, Dean, maybe because my leg is pinned under something I can’t actually see and one of my arms is broken so I don’t have enough strength to push it off.” 

“Okay, Sass,” he muttered. He dropped a flashlight down to you and you caught it with your good hand. You turned it on and shined it around you, discovering your leg was pinned by an industrial sized metal shelf. 

“It’s a giant shelf,” you called up to the boys. You set the flashlight down beside you and rubbed your forehead. You looked around, trying to figure out a way out of this mess. “All of this because I wasn’t paying attention,” you muttered under your breath. 

“What was that?” Sam shouted, unable to hear you. 

“Nothing,” you called back. “But Dean, you’re going to have to figure out what to do about all those bodies up there.” He cocked his head at you, not understanding what you were implying. “We need to call 911.”

—

The boys started scrambling.You could hear them arguing above you about what to do with the bodies of the dead werewolves. After a couple moments their arguing turned into grunts as they attempted to lift and carry them somewhere. 

The longer you sat and listened to them tromp around, the more your arm hurt. It began slowly, a small burn running up the length of your arm, but quickly turned excruciating. You were biting back tears when Dean’s face reappeared in the hole. 

“Sam just called 911,” he called down to you. “He's waiting outside for them. How are you doing?” 

“Honestly, not that great,” you replied, voice strained. “The adrenaline has definitely worn off, and I think this is the worst break I’ve ever had.” Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t hold the tears back any longer and they began to slip down your cheeks. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean said, voice soft. “I wish I could get down there and help you.”

You saw his eyes begin to shift, searching the area around both himself and you. “Dean Winchester, don’t you dare!” you shouted, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “If you come down here you’ll just get stuck and then they’ll have to rescue both of us.”

He sighed and, instead of jumping through the hole, laid down on his stomach next to the opening to get a better view of you. “What did you do with them?” you asked.

“We took them upstairs, hid them behind a wall that had collapsed. We’ll have to come back and take care of them later. Any thoughts on the reason why we were here?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but at that moment you heard sirens approaching the building. Too late. They had arrived. 

“Guess I’ll be winging it,” Dean muttered.

—

The sound of voices and tromping boots grew closer until they were right above your head. Dean gave you a smile before slipping back out of view, presumably to talk to the firefighters. You couldn’t make out anything they were saying through the floor, but you hoped they were coming up with a plan quickly. 

The light coming through the hole vanished once again and you squinted upwards. When your eyes focused you saw two firefighters looking down at you, one with a helmet with the numbers 118 printed on it. They had puzzled looks on their faces and tilted their heads almost perfectly in sync, both seemingly trying to figure out how you had managed to get yourself into this situation. 

“I fell, okay?” you shouted up at them. “Can you please just get me out of here?”

Upon hearing your words they both schooled their expressions into more neutral, professional ones. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of here in no time!” the one without a helmet said. The other guy moved backwards, shouting, “Hey, Cap!” as he went. 

Unbeknownst to you, there was an entirely different conversation happening up on the main floor. “So, what were you guys even doing here?” asked the guy that had previously been referred to as “Cap.”

“We were walking by and thought we heard someone scream,” Dean answered smoothly. “We came running in and turns out, there wasn’t anyone here.”

“It’s the full moon, Bobby!” The tall firefighter with reddish blonde hair was visibly excited as he pulled his harness on. He turned to face Sam and Dean before he continued. “People act so weird when there’s a full moon. A couple years ago a guy was running around eating people’s faces!” 

“That’s enough, Buck,” the guy, now known as Bobby, scolded. Sam and Dean turned to each other, eyebrows raised. They were both thinking the same thing - the likelihood of that guy actually being human was very slim. 

“Alright, come on,” said the guy with ‘Diaz’ emblazoned on the back of his turnout jacket. The two firefighters nodded at each other, all business, and approached the hole in the floor. 

—

You sat, head down, as they rappelled down to you. As soon as their boots hit the floor they unclipped their harnesses and approached you. “What’s your name?” asked the shorter of the two as he crouched down next to you, assessing your injuries. 

“Y/n,” you replied, wincing slightly as he touched your broken arm. 

“Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Eddie. I’m going to lift this shelf up, and Buck there is going to pull you out,” he said, gesturing to the other guy standing beside him. “Sound okay?”

You nodded as Buck approached you. “I’m going to try to be gentle, but this might hurt a little bit,” he said apologetically as he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Good!” Buck said to Eddie who nodded in response. He braced himself and lifted the shelf, and Buck dragged you backwards. 

Your arm was jostled and you screamed, the pain some of the worst you had ever felt. With the pressure of the bookshelf on your leg you hadn’t realized there was something wrong with your ankle as well.

“Sorry. You’re okay. That was the worst part, I promise,” Buck said, trying to comfort you.

You heard a shout above you, scuffling feet, and a quieter voice speaking in a soothing tone. You knew Dean was giving the fire captain a run for his money up there and it brought you a small feeling of comfort. 

“Send down the basket!” Buck shouted. His command elicited a groan from you. 

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie laughed in response. “We’ve seen much worse, much more embarrassing things than this.” 

“One time,” Buck said as he spun around to face you, “we responded to a call where a girl was stuck in a window. She was trying to reach some, uh...never mind.” He had caught the look on Eddie’s face and decided it was probably not a good idea to finish that story. 

“Oh no, don’t stop now,” you insisted, eyebrows raised. “I think my arm might even be starting to feel better…”

Both men let out a laugh, Buck shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “You can’t argue with that.” The statement was pointed at Eddie, who smiled and shrugged back. Getting the permission he sought, Buck continued. “She was trying to reach a bag she had thrown out of the window. The bag was full of poop.”

The story continued on as they strapped you into the basket. By the time you were pulled up through the hole, and had reached the daylight on the other side, you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Dean rushed over immediately before being promptly shooed away by the paramedics. 

While they lifted you on to the stretcher and got you settled, Dean strode over to Eddie and Buck. “Thank you,” he said, gruffly. He stuck out his hand and they both shook it in turn.

“No problem,” Buck responded.

“She’ll be just fine,” Eddie said, Buck nodding his head in agreement.

Finally strapped on to the stretcher, the paramedics began to roll you towards the front of the warehouse, Dean walking beside you with Sam not far behind. “Hey!” you called back to the way you had come from. Eddie and Buck looked up and stopped unstrapping their harnesses. “Thank you,” you said. Both men smiled and nodded their heads and the stretcher rolled forward again, carrying you toward the ambulance. 

—

The next few hours were a whirlwind for you. You arrived at the hospital and they promptly whisked you away for an x-ray to assess the true extent of the damage on your arm and ankle. The break in your arm was so severe that it required surgery, and you were under within an hour. 

For Dean, on the other hand, the time passed agonizingly slowly. Not only was he not used to having your medical care in someone else’s hands, but he also wasn’t used to waiting on someone to get out of surgery. He was pacing the waiting room and pulling at his hair when the surgeon stepped out from behind the doors. Sam stood up from where he had been calmly sitting in the corner and joined Dean in front of the surgeon. 

“She did well,” he said, smiling. “The rod and pins are set, and she’ll be in the cast for six weeks before we visit the possibility of removal. She’ll also be in a walking boot for five weeks for the hairline fracture in her ankle. She should be awake in the next few minutes if you want to see her.”

Dean nodded eagerly and the surgeon led him and Sam to your room. Sam waited out in the hall while Dean quietly entered the room. When he stepped inside he found you already awake and smiling dopily at him. You reached out towards him, making grabby hands like a baby that wanted a toy. 

“I see they gave you the good drugs,” he said, chuckling as he crossed the room. He sat down beside you and took the hand that wasn’t currently attached to a casted arm. “Well kid, you’ve really done yourself in this time.” Shaking his head, he gave you a long once-over. Other than the treated injuries, it seemed that nothing else was hurt except your pride. 

“I fell down a hole.” You giggled, squeezing his hand. “Dean, I literally fell into a hole and had to be rescued by firefighters! It was sooo embarrassing.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, unable to stop the laugh from popping out of his mouth.

“Not as embarrassing as the poop bag girl they told me about though!” You laughed, remembering the story.

“The what?” Dean asked, confused.

“Oh, my god!” you practically shouted. Your eyes grew wide and looked at Dean with a cartoonish look of panic on your face. “What about the werewolves?!”

“Shh, lower your voice!” Dean scolded. You nodded your head with a very serious expression. 

“What about the werewolves?” you repeated in an exaggerated whisper. 

“We’ll go back and take care of them on the way out of town tomorrow,” he replied. You nodded at him, wide-eyed, and he shook his head at you. “Why don’t we try to get some rest again?” he suggested gently. 

“Okay,” you sighed, your eyes already slipping closed. 

—

Dean had slept by your bedside that night, head down on the sheets next to you and holding your hand the entire time.

You had been discharged the next morning, and on your way out of town you passed by Station 118. They had been outside washing the rigs, and you smiled as you watched them spray each other with the hoses and laugh. 

“Dean! Pull over!” You hit his shoulder with your good hand to ensure you had his attention.

He glanced at you in the rear view mirror. “What? Why?” he asked as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

You glanced out the back window seeing the fire station about half a block back. “Uh, back up. I can’t walk that far.”

“Are you still high on painkillers?” Sam asked.

“No. Well, maybe…but those are the guys that helped us last night,” you explained. “I want to say thanks.”

Dean nodded his understanding and pulled ahead to the next intersection to make a u-turn. He pulled up to the edge of the driveway, put the car in park, and cut the engine. He hopped out quickly and met you at the back door. He offered his hand to help you stand. As you linked your good arm through Dean’s, Sam appeared beside you.

By the time you made it halfway up the drive, Buck and Eddie were making their way over to you.

“Y/N!” Eddie greeted.

“It’s good to see you up and around already,” Buck added.

“It’s good to be up and around.” You smiled. “We’re headed out of town and just happened to see you guys out front, so I figured we should stop.”

You let go of Dean’s arm and walked over to hug Eddie and Buck. “Thanks a lot, guys.”

“Just doing our jobs,” Eddie said.

“Still, I appreciate it. And thank you, Buck, for the storytime. It really did help.”

Buck chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

“We should hit the road. Be safe, guys.” You waved as you linked your arm through Dean’s again and made your way back over to Baby.

—

You arrived back at the bunker the next day after driving nonstop. Dean had quickly decided that there would be no hunts for the next six weeks until you had healed. You had argued with him about it for three days, saying at least he and Sam should go, but he was too stubborn for you. By the time your six weeks had passed, you had decided that there was such a thing as too much attention. 

One morning Dean came strolling in from the garage with a handheld power saw and made a beeline for you. You eyed him warily from where you were sitting at the war room table, unsure of what he was planning. 

“Dean, if this is another one of your home project ideas, I don’t think I’m up for one today,” you sighed. 

“Not at all,” he laughed in response. “I know by now that you hate those. Do you really not know what day it is?” 

Your walking boot had officially been discarded about a week ago but you had already lost track of the days. You raised your eyebrows at him, an expectant look on your face. “It’s the six week anniversary of your...accident,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s time for that cast to come off.”

“And you’re going to take it off with that?” you asked, gesturing to the saw with a doubtful look. “Is that even safe?” 

“It’s pretty similar to what a doctor would use,” he replied, shrugging. “Do you trust me?” 

“I always trust you Dean, but-”

“Great!” he quipped. He plopped down next to you and grabbed your casted arm. “Just sit still and this will be off in no time.” 

Before you had a chance to protest the saw was grinding into your bright blue cast. It was off in a matter of minutes and Dean looked proudly down at his handiwork. 

“See?” he said, smiling. “I told you it would be fine! Ew, your skin kinda looks funny.” His smile faded to a frown as he reached out and poked gently at the pale skin of your forearm. 

“Yes, babe, it has been wrapped in a cast and unable to see sunlight for the past six weeks,” you replied with an eye roll. You swung your newly freed arm around a couple times, flexing your wrist the entire time with a contemplative look on your face. 

“What do you say we test this bad boy out with a quick spar?” you asked Dean. You shot him a playful look, and he grinned back in response, shaking his head slowly.

“Race ya!” you shouted as you shot up from your chair and took off down the hall. 

“This is such a bad idea,” Dean muttered to himself. He gave chase anyway, following you at a pace just slow enough that would allow you to win. 


End file.
